


Morning Rapport

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Banter, Coming Out, Flirting, M/M, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “Great,” Tommy murmurs, and then, in the sexiest, most thick with caramel voice, he drags out the word, and says, “Si-id?” Sidney thinks he might just die, thinks his heart might just pop, and it’s not even that salacious, but it’s just so— It’s just a lot! It’s a lot!“Uh— Uh huh?” Sidney all but squeaks.“Would you make me a coffee?” Sidney exhales, putting his head back against the cupboard.“How do the girls stand it?” he asks, more to the kitchen ceiling and to God than to Tommy himself.“They faint,” Tommy answers, smugly.





	Morning Rapport

 Sidney stands in the doorway that overlooks the yard, his whisk frozen where it settles in the thick mixture on the bowl, the bowl itself rested against the apron he’s wearing. He’d fed the chickens when he’d woken up – he’s naturally an early riser, and he’d started baking before anyone else had gotten up, and there are muffins cooling on the table. This mixture is thicker, for some flapjacks, and most of the guys aren’t up yet, but—

Tommy had just kinda floated through the living room, still shirtless, just wearing some loose pyjamas slung so low on his hips Sidney thinks he’s gonna get a view of his… Not that he’d look, not that he’s looking, necessarily, except that Tommy looks so good in the light from the sunrise, his skin shining.

He hadn’t noticed Sidney, Sidney doesn’t think.

He’d been in his own little world, and he’s in his own little world now: he puts his bare feet in the dirt of the yard outside, and the chickens flock around him and bok and bob around his ankles, picking up birdseed from the ground, but he doesn’t seem to notice them. Tommy is stretching, raising his arms above his head and shifting them from side to side, his shoulders ripping, his pyjamas coming down a little bit lower.

Sidney can see the cleft of Tommy’s backside, see the top part of his buttocks where they peek out from the sleek, golden fabric of his PJs. Perfect Tommy’s ass is, well— Just about _perfect_. Round, and sun-kissed, with barely a tan line between his back and his buttocks, and Sidney can see the shadow where they dip together and…

Sidney coughs loudly, and Tommy turns, slowly, and gives Sidney the most beatific smile this side of the Pacific, the sun catching his eyes, and Sidney’s mouth is so dry he can barely stand it.

“What’cha cookin’, good lookin’?” Tommy drawls, and Sidney stares at him for a long moment. His mouth does not move: the whisk stays frozen in the batter. Tommy keeps eye contact for a second, and then he leans in slightly, and Sidney remembers that he should probably reply.

“You’re good looking,” he says. Tommy beams, and Sidney adds desperately, feeling a flush on his cheeks, “That’s not— That’s not what I meant to say, I didn’t mean to say that—”

“You were gonna lie and say I’m not, huh?”

“What? No, no—” Tommy laughs, the chuckle low in his throat, and Sidney swallows hard on the lump in his throat.

“You never been around half-naked guys before?”

“Sure I have,” Sidney says. “With the… You know, with the rodeo team, at college.” Tommy arches a sardonic eyebrow.

“You were on the rodeo team, huh? Gosh. You must have been a sight for sore eyes, Sid Zweibel, cityslicker in his cowboy boots.” Sidney looks down at the bowl, moving the whisk through the batter and forcing the banana to mingle better with the syrup and the oats and the nuts.

“I, uh,” he says. “I was national champ two years running, Tommy. I know I’m from New Jersey, but it’s not just a costume.” He doesn’t dare look up as Tommy steps forward, and he sees Tommy’s bare feet come slowly into view, and the hems of his gold pyjama pants, and then his… Sidney’s gaze comes to a stop on Tommy’s crotch, where he can see dark blond hair leading down underneath the waistline, and he can see the slight bulge of Tommy’s cock under the thin fabric. “It was my grandpa’s. Well. Not… Not this one, um, exactly, but the red outfit I wore before, you know how I wore the red one with the white neckerchief and the boots and, I, uh—”

“He was in the movies,” Tommy says, and he reaches out, touching the bib on Sidney’s powder-blue shirt. “Buck said.”

“Right,” Sidney says. Tommy’s fingers are delicately manicured, and Sidney feels the tips of them as they run over his chest, sliding up toward his chin… Sidney lets his head be moved, and he looks up toward Tommy’s face, instead of keeping his gaze in line with his crotch. “I don’t like women,” Sidney says, blurts out, _spits_ out. “Maybe you should, because I, full disclosure, I don’t want you to be, but you know, Buck knows, I told Buck, and I figure he told, but you… You should put on some, um, I could give you my jacket, aren’t you cold, I mean? Because it’s not so warm, and I, I—”

Tommy blinks, very slowly. The thick eyelashes come down in a curtain over brightly blue eyes, and he looks up at Sidney, who’s a little taller than him anyway, but that’s added to by the fact that Tommy’s in the yard, and Sidney’s on the doorstep. Then, his lips quirking into a slight smile, Tommy reaches into the bowl, drags his finger through the thick, gooey mix, and brings it to his mouth.

Frozen in his place, his own mouth slightly open, Sidney watches powerlessly as Tommy brings his finger up, his tongue and lips wrapping smooth around the pad of his finger, and he hears the sucking sound as Tommy takes it onto his tongue, chews delicately, swallows. His lips, wrapped around two fingers, look…

Gosh.

“Perfect Tommy,” Sidney says, and Tommy laughs, real low.

“Sid,” he says. “I don’t like girls either.”

“What?” Sidney asks, breathlessly. “But you’re… You’re perfect.”

“Exactly,” Tommy murmurs. “Why waste perfection on some heterosexual?” He leans in a little closer, and Sidney feels as if he can barely breathe, Tommy’s so close to him, leaning over with the bowl between them, looking up at Sidney’s face. It had been one thing, in college, when Sidney’d hung out with athletes and jocks, or with medical students who barely glanced at him, and with Buck, who was a category all on his own – he’d gone out a few times, with girls, never realized it was meant to be a date until after someone pointed it out or she leaned in for a kiss and he panicked, but this is…

This is the Hong Kong Cavaliers, and it’s different, and Buckaroo had said it’d be fine but this is different, you know, it’s different, and all things being honest, Sidney didn’t know a thing about Buckaroo’s band except that Buckaroo had one – he’d been focused on surgery, and reading about surgery, and riding when he could, and—

“Are you flirting with me?” Sidney asks. “I have… Social cues, they sometimes, uh, they sometimes pass me by.”

“I flirt with everybody,” Tommy says, looking at Sidney through the definition of bedroom eyes, and Sidney thinks he might just drop dead right here, and let the chickens eat him. “You don’t need to take it personal.”

“Can I?” Sidney asks, and Tommy laughs.

“You’re funny, Sid.”

“No one calls me Sid.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I’m gonna call you Sid.”

“Call me anything you want.”

“ _Sid_.”

“I like the way you say it.”

“Yeah?”

“I can say it another way.”

“Oh, n—”

“You’d have to treat me right first, of course.” Sidney blinks.

“Oh. You mean sex.”

“That’s what they call it.”

“They call it other things.”

“Sure.”

“Coitus. Making love. The beast with two—”

“Sid.”

“I’ll shut up.”

“You don’t have to.” Sidney heaves in a breath, and Tommy’s smile gets a little softer, his gaze not quite as sultry, but still full of warmth. “I like it when you talk, Sid Zweibel.”

“I like when you, uh, when you talk too,” Sidney says. “There’s muffins on the table, you know. Still warm. You could… You could have one.”

“Just one?”

“Oh,” Sidney says, and he laughs, the breath not really making it the whole way into his lungs. “You can have as many as you want.”

“I, uh, I think I want some of these flapjacks, though,” Tommy purrs, rapping his knuckles against the edge of the bowl with a quiet, glassy sound. Sidney steps back into the kitchen, and he begins spooning the mixture into a greased pan, ready to put into the oven. Tommy watches him, watches him like he’s doing something interesting instead of something boring, and Tommy says, “Sid, you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, no, ask— Ask, uh, ask whatever you wanna ask, I’m, um, I’m an open book, Tommy. I’m an open book.”  Sidney takes up the pan, and he crouches in front of the oven, sliding it inside. He’ll work on the eggs in a minute, start frying those up, and some peppers…

“You ever read a Banzai comic in your life, before you got here?” Guiltily, Sidney glances up from the oven. Tommy is sat on the dining table, his legs spread as wide as they can go, a muffin in his hand… With the pyjamas stretched taut like that, Sidney can see… Well. Sidney can see just about everything.

“I flicked through one, once,” Sidney says. “When the first one, uh, came out, but I don’t really… I don’t have time, uh, for comic books, you know, I do neurosurgery, and I don’t have the, um, I don’t do— I get some periodicals, but they’re mostly about ranching, farming, um, I don’t really… Not that I didn’t care. I was glad Buck was doing good. But it was— You know, we were friends in college, and it woulda been weird, to read comics about him, it’s weird _now_ , when I’m in the comics. Tommy, you sure you don’t want my jacket? Or maybe, um, maybe an apron.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, glancing down, and he crosses one leg over the other. “I’m sorry, Sid.”

“I don’t think you are.” Tommy smiles.

“Maybe not.”

“I am, uh, I am sorry, you know. That I mixed you up with Pecos.”

“Reno told you she’s a woman?”

“Uh huh. I think I looked at a picture… But I, somebody described you, and then when I met you guys, I guess it all got mixed up in my head. I only knew Rawhide.” Tommy scoffs, but it feels good natured – it sure as Hell doesn’t feel cruel, or nasty.

“Course you did,” he says, with faux scorn. “One cowboy to another, huh?” There’s a long pause, and then Tommy says, “You, you make a good cowboy, Sid. Real John Wayne.” Sidney feels himself smile, and he looks across the room at Tommy, at the muscle on his shirtless chest, at his crossed legs.

“Um, Tommy?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“I’ve only been here at the Institute a month.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t know how things go here.”

“Maybe not.”

“But do you— Not that I’m, uh, not that I’m trying to be judgemental, or anything, not that I’m trying to make you uncomfortable, but do you, do you always wear so little? In the mornings?”

“No,” Tommy says primly.

“O— Oh. No?”

“Nope.” Sidney leans back against one of the kitchen units, his elbows loosely on his thighs, his heels touching the back of the cupboard doors.

“Then— I mean, this morning, you’re, you’re not wearing very… Again, not that I _mind_ , but—”

“Well,” Tommy says. “Rawhide’s still in hospital. Reno was out with Pinky last night, on the town, so they’ll both be passed out in their bunk ‘til at least eleven, and uh, and Buckaroo was out on a date last night. He paged me he’ll be back after three.” Sidney glances from the muffins on the table to the flapjacks in the oven.

“Oh,” Sidney says.

“You look like you’re making breakfast for twelve here, Sid.”

“Well. For… For five.”

“Nah. Just us two.” Sidney feels a creeping heat burning up the back of his neck, sliding into his cheeks, and up into his hairline. It’s too intense to be a blush, and he stares down at his own hands to keep from looking at Tommy as he uncrosses his legs. “So, I, uh, I figured I’d just wear whatever I looked best in.”

“You didn’t wear those pyjamas to bed?”

“No, cowboy. I don’t wear anything to bed.”

“You’re killing me here. You’re killing me.”

“Oh, I’m trying.” Tommy murmurs. Sidney swallows, and he glances at his reflection in the glass window of the oven. He doesn’t… You know. He isn’t, uh, he isn’t experienced, like some guys are, and what with the— What with everything, it’s never been his priority, going out and getting with guys, and even if it had been, he wouldn’t know where to start, and this is a lot further than he’s ever gotten before in talking about being gay, let alone being… Let alone… “Thought we might do something.”

“Do something?” Sidney asks, voice a little high-pitched.

“Well, yeah,” Tommy murmurs. There’s a long pause, and then he says, in a smooth tone, “We could go swimming.”

“You don’t want to take me into your bunk and make a funny comment at me about being a rodeo champion?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Sidney mumbles, putting his face in his hands.

“I can wait ‘til you do.” Tommy swings his legs slightly off the table, and he says, “You’re a real handsome guy, Sid. I love brown eyes.”

“Swimming sounds nice,” Sidney says. His ears, he’s fairly sure, are bright red. He feels like his face is boiling, and like there can’t be any blood anywhere else in his body, because it’s all rushed upwards to paint his face like a traffic light and scream to the world that Sid Zweibel is maybe a little flustered.

“Great,” Tommy murmurs, and then, in the sexiest, most thick with caramel voice, he drags out the word, and says, “ _Si-id?_ ”

“Uh— Uh huh?” Sidney all but squeaks.

“Would you make me a coffee?” Sidney exhales, putting his head back against the cupboard.

“How do the girls stand it?” he asks, more to the kitchen ceiling and to God than to Tommy himself.

“They faint,” Tommy answers, smugly.

“Gosh,” Sidney mutters, and he rubs his hand over his cheek. “Go— Go put on some pants, will you, Tommy? Please? Before I drop dead of a heart attack?”

“Sure, Sid,” Tommy says, and he slides from the table. Sidney can’t help but watch as he goes, watch the shift of the fabric over the tight muscle of his thighs and the rounded globes of his cheeks, watch Tommy’s swinging hips… “I’ll do _whatever_ you ask me.”

“Oh, golly,” Sidney mumbles to himself, and he hears Tommy’s laugh in the corridor as he walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html), which I'm making my focus rather than Tumblr in the wake of all this anti-adult content nonsense. Requests always open.


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